


The Little Things

by Tynni



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Multi, Parents & Children, What To Expect When Your Expecting, cursing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-17
Updated: 2013-05-30
Packaged: 2017-12-08 17:34:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/764108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tynni/pseuds/Tynni
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Did he really cry this much when he was a colony? It was as if his eyes watered from even a weak wind. He was like a pregnant Poland in this state. Not to mention the strong urges to touch everything that was polished, sometimes with an overwhelming urge to put it in his mouth...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fix Me

“Alright Dudes and Dudette’s, this is how this is gunna go down! China! You’ll start cheaply mass producing the new suits that Japan is supposed to design. Britain, you have to get Uncle Wales on board to herd up the cows. He’s likes sheep right? Cow’s aren’t that different.  Russia I need yo-“

“What the bloody hell are you spouting you tosser?!”

“I do not like idea of work with Japan, aru.”

“I would very much like to know what Amerika wishes me to do.”

The self-proclaimed hero gave his signature laugh, his brain believing his ‘prevent-earth’s-destruction-by-stopping-cow-methane-with-super-suits’ had been unanimously approved.

Well almost.

“I knew you guys would finally see it my way. Hey, bro, aren’t you happy I saved your ice shit?” Blue eyes darted to a certain seat, but they soon narrowed as he realized it was empty.

“America, what the hell-“

“Ah, L'Amérique, mon fils ‘as been, ‘ow you say, ‘under zee weather’ today.” There was a flourish of dramatic hand motions in conjunction with that statement.

“What?! And you didn’t say anything?  Not cool man! I say we adjo-adge-….stop this meeting and go take care of Mattie!” There was a loud bang as America slammed his fist on the podium.

Germany could only sigh as he wrote down a side note to have maintenance replace it…..again.

“I hate to admit it, but he’s right, Frog. You should have said something.” There was a murmur of agreement from various other nations, most just wanting to blame the flamboyant blonde for _something_.

France was shocked for a moment before returning to his dramatic gestures, horrified that such blame was being placed on him.

“Vell…I guess we _could_ dismiss for today. Ve can pick up tomorrow.” _I really just want to get the hell out of here-oh God, I left Prussia alone in my hotel!_ “Are z’ere any closing statements?” There was a sound of papers shuffling quickly. The meetings were a week long affair this time around, giving them ample time to slack off the first day or so.

“Very good. Let’s-“

_Creak_

Every head turned at the sound of the door being opened. There was a squeak of exertion that was barely audible. It gave a good three feet before all movement stopped. There were many bunched eyebrows at the scene.

“OH LORD JESUS, IT’S A GHOST!” The manliest of high school girls managed to shout before his body dived under the table.

A white foot crawled through the door, followed by another. And another. And another.

Four of the Nordics stood with mouths agape while Norway took to internal screaming.

Two older nations found themselves doing both.

“Art’ur! Turn me back now!” A tiny accented voice demanded, chubby hand brandishing a hair brush while clinging back of a young polar bear. The greatly oversized white shirt drug comically, even tied in various places, while violet eyes stared hard at his target.

Said nation could only gawk at the sight before him. His eyes shifted so slightly to look around. He wasn’t the only one seeing this, right?

Not if the choking babble coming from behind him was any indication.

“ART’UR!”

 “England? Isht dis un …child of yours?”

“W-what?! I’ll have you know I am a respectable man. I don’t have children nor do I want-“

The utensil fell from the boy’s hands, cutting off any argument as it clattered against the hard floor. The pretense of anger dropped from his body and by the time the wooden object had bounced twice, tears being fought back in those dark eyes. England’s attention snapped back to the child.

“It S‘kay. Daddy will ‘member me…later.” His lip quivered but he held it in. _Matthew Williams! You are a grown country! Don’t you dare cry! What’s wrong with you?_

Well. That was one way to get the entire world to hate your loathsome existence.

Bravo.

France’s mater…fraternal instincts kicked into overdrive, pushing aside his chair and practically running to scoop the shuddering toddler into his arms.

“C'est bon, mon bébé.” His words were hushed as he situated him, quiet hiccupped sobs began drowning into his shoulder. A piercing glare directed to a certain Englishman accompanied by gentle rocking.

“P-papa…Why did he do d’is. I-I..Did I do somet’ing?” The words were now muffled as anger and confusion took over.

“Non! Non!” The Frenchman retorted. “Right…England?” He had no idea why his Canada was once again a child, but the reasons were insignificant while the boy was having a breakdown.

By now, a few of the more intelligent nations had caught on to something, gears turning furiously in their heads.

“That’s right, lad...Matthew…I swear, I didn’t do anything to you.”

Everyone understood to some degree at the drop of his human name. Some began to murmer amounst themselves as a small wave of confusion drifted in.

“Ay! Look at the cute little niño! Lovi~! It’s so cute! I didn’t know Francis had a new peque!”

Minus one.

"Germany! Germany! Why does Big Brother France have a bambino?! It'ssocute! Do you think we can get one? I mean, where do you get them from anyway? I never see them at the stores when I go shopping. Do you think France has an extra one. OHLOOKATIT! Germany!"

Minus two

Matthew was ignoring the noise he had stirred up, instead he was too preoccupied to find out if his former caretaker had some sort of horrible grudge against him

“Pwomis?” The blonde head peeked up from his father’s shirt, sore eyes pleading for the truth as he glanced toward his other parent.

“On the Queen’s honour.”

A small grin broke out over the boy’s face as he sniffed the last of his tears, relieved that England hadn’t done something in retaliation for something he had done unknowingly. Though, the fact was still there.

He was currently in the body of a three year old.

_Again_

And he didn’t know why.

Everything he did was in accordance to his physical age, and it was frustrating. It wasn’t as though he _wanted_ to speak with a speech impediment or with lack of grammatical understanding. His mind was perfectly capable of creating well-orchestrated sentences, but when they made it to his vocal cords, they managed to shift into some childish rendition.

The same went for his actions. Did he really cry this much when he was a colony? It was as if his eyes watered from even a weak wind. He was like a pregnant Poland in this state. Not to mention the strong urges to touch everything that was polished, sometimes with an overwhelming urge to put it in his mouth.

He shuddered at the self-control that he had had to use to text this morning. That phone looked so tasty for a moment…and Angry Birds demanded to be played.

And it just kept getting more and more difficult to reign in these impulses as the day went on.

Matt’s smile weakened a little as he started wriggling against the arms around him. Francis noticed this and set the boy down, helping him catch his balance before leaving him to his own devices.

Tottering forward, Matthew ducked under the table.

“A’fred?” His hand reached forward, the tips of his fingers touching the trembling shoulder. “A’fred…It jus’ me.” Blue eyes stole a look at the small body, mind reeling as he took it all in. It had been well over two-hundred years since he last saw that image.

“Mattie? Whaa…?” The American crawled closer to his brother who only shrugged.

“Boys. Can you come out now? I need to have a look at Matthew.” Arthur called to them, concern etched in his voice. He hadn’t been lying. This was not his doing, but magic was the only way something so drastic could happen.

Matthew easily walked out, followed by a clambering America.

“A’fie all bettah now.” He announced as he latched a hand onto his brother’s pants, eliciting various squeaks and coos from female and male nations alike.

“Japan! Are you getting this? It’s so…what was that word…Moe?” Hungary had shifted from a state of shock to snapping pictures in record time. Her accomplice simply stared, pokerfaced, at the hands folded in his lap.

* * *

 

Grinning like a fool while bouncing on his Papa’s lap while France brushed his hair, Matthew allowed Arthur to poke and prod him while mumbling various counter spells, attempting to solve this puzzle. It was troubling to say the least. He had never heard of a country regressing like this and it wasn’t as if there was something wrong with the lad’s country. _If it happened to him…who else could it affect?_

“L’Angleterre…are you sure you didn’t-“ That nasal voice was not what he wanted to hear at the moment.

“Shut up. I have already told you that I didn’t cause this.” The Brit didn’t even spare a glance at the man as he tilted Matthew’s head to the side, fingers tickling the soft skin.

“Oui…but sometimes when you drink-“

Arthur relieved the man of the hairbrush, using it to give him a good hard smack across his head. This sent the toddler into a giggling fit, leaving the nations who had remained after the dismissal to squirm in anticipation. They had been assured, for good behavior, time with little Matthew once the inspections were done.

Sending one last glare towards the Frenchman, Arthur turned back to the problem, softening his gaze.

“Now lad, tell me exactly what happened.”

“Well…I went to bed ‘cause my head had an _owwie_.”His brow scrunched a little. _That_ wasn’t exactly the word he had planned on using. “When I woke up Kuma…Kuma…Kumajawa was so BIG,” The boy’s eyes grew round as he narrated the story. “an-and I wasn’t! S’not fair! I wanna be big boy ‘gain!” Matthew’s face started growing red as a temper tantrum tried to rise up. With a quick hand over his mouth, he seemed to calm himself down. “I-I…why I act like d’is?” His anger was soon accented with tears and he didn’t try to fight them this time. Both versions of himself wanted to cry now.

Arthur looked down now, unsure of how to help his former charge while Francis took to rubbing circles on the boy’s back.

“S’Okay! I’m the hero remember! I’ll fix ya right up, then you can go back to agreeing with my plan to save the world!” For a moment, it was as if the boy had seen all his birthdays at once, but that look was quickly replaced as he fought back thoughts that ‘reason’ shouldn’t have allowed to exist.

Besides, imagining your brother in nothing but a cape and tights was not good for the psyche.

“ _Stu_ pid git, No one liked your plan in the first place.” He paused, thinking hard before he spun on the American, chests nearly brushing.

“Whoa dude, invasion of personal space.”

“Personal Space was invented in Korea! Daze~” There was a resounding slap followed by ‘aru’.

The Brit just glared upwards and the taller man, ignoring all distractions, as a thought process began churning in his head and he wanted to let it play out before he continued.

This is what we call thinking before speaking.

However, Alfred wasn’t as familiar with the term, and simply looked confused as he stared down into green eyes. After a moment, he believed time had stopped for Arthur. After all, that’s what happened on T.V. Someone would be talking, then suddenly freeze from an outside force. Now it was up to him to save him before time ran out. How did they fix these things again?

Oh yea!

It wasn’t as if he was looking forward to this, but if it saved Arthur…

It was quick, just a peck, but more than enough to set off a chain of reaction.

France stood, indignant shout on his lips, nearly dumping the blonde in his lap, quickly sitting back down when the boy cried out in surprise.

Japan’s eyes shot up, his face rather impassive, except for fact that his left eye was currently having a seizure.

Hungary’s silent squeal was accompanied by furious shaking and soundless requests for a repeat. Austria hand a hand gently on her arm. Not that he would actually move to stop her if she meant to move.

Then there were the two involved. One looked as if nothing had happened while the other tried to process what had.

When Arthur’s skin began to heat up, Alfred regained his trademark smile.

Success! The Hero saved the-

_Whack_

Close range head shot

_It’s super effective._

Alfred went down, the offending brush clattering to the floor a few feet away.

“YOU IGNORANT SOD! Pull your head out of your arse for five bleeding seconds!” The Brit furiously rubbing his palms against his face a few times trying to regain his composure and failing miserably. “I _was going_ to ask you if you had anything to do with _this_.” He made a sweeping gesture to the puckered up Canadian. “After all, I remember you two met up yesterday, did you not?”

Alfred was busy streaming curses, and rubbing the skin between his yes. “Yea we –ouch- we chilled after his plane landed. Jus’ went for take-out and coffee. Ate at the hotel—Shit Artie that hurt. You would think you were _Great_ Britain again.”

One very large eyebrow twitched. Twice.

France instinctively put his hands to the young boy’s ears, blocking out the proverbial shit-storm.

Matthew however, was less than thrilled. They were _forgetting_ the fact that he had a problem. An angry grunt built up in the back of his throat as he huffed irately. They could argue later, right now he just wanted his normal body and mind. There were Molson’s to be drunk and pancakes to be made.

Neither of which had he had this morning.

Before he could break up the fight however, he felt one of the hands remove itself and a yelp from his Papa.

“-you daft Yank! I’ll have you know that-“

“Little Matvey. You have a need to be one with Mother Russia now, da? I would be feeling the happy if you do so.” Violet met Mauve as the youngster twisted his Papa’s the lap to see the Eurasian peering at him over France’s shoulder, his hand gripped tightly around the other.

For a moment, everything went quiet as some nations prepared to defend their fellow country. Others just wanted to see the results.

Matthew gave a grin that would melt any heart, and Russia believe that it was a confirmation.

“Non, you ig’nant sod!” The voice was laced with a diabetes-inducing tone while looking like the cat who caught the canary.  He had learned a new word. Had he used it right? Of course he did! It was–Oh look. Welcome back common sense. You left for a bit, but it’s okay. Whim took over and did a bang up job.

 _Oh fucking shit! Stupid brain. Shitshitshitshitshit. Je suis mort! SHIT!_ His eyes went as wide as they could as his mouth formed a small circle. “Uh oh.”

England turned a new shade of red before paling while France nearly fainted where he sat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. I needed something upbeat to write because..I just did. So I started this. Don't judge me. Because it's meant for fun (but still with a plot), it'll probably have those 'why are you even trying' moments but IDGAF. It'll be kinda fast paced for a bit...sorry  
> So enjoy this new series and if you follow my other one, it should have an update -very- soon.
> 
> Peque[SP]| Child  
> Bambino[ITA]| Child  
> Je suis mort![FR]| I'm so dead!


	2. Cookie Monster

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Drug reference.

It took nearly two hours of twisted diplomacy, screeching, and kol’ing, but the family of blondes managed to wriggle their way from the meeting room, avoiding the sad gazes of the other countries who had yet to have a turn with newly miniaturized nation.

They had retreated to Matthew’s hotel room as it was the closest and according to Arthur, the nearest to the source of the problem.

“Norway gave his word that he was not a part of this.” The Brit mused “Denmark was quick to back up his alibi. Romania wasn’t here today, but this type of deviltry isn’t in his area of knowledge…” Arthur continued to mumble and pace. He was attempting to be helpful and find a solution to the problem.

Alfred had other plans.

Once everyone was calmed down as much as they properly could…

And Matthew was settled on the floor…

The American took a sick satisfaction in one tiny detail that he had ignored during the initial confusion.

His (slightly older, but not really. Bering went into Alaska, damn it!) brother was now his very little brother.

 “No Matt. You cannot have that.”

 “Ah Ah! Don’t touch that, you’ll hurt yourself.”

“Hey now _little_ brother…Don’t you think that’s enough candy – I don’t care if it _is_ maple flavored, young man.”

Needless to say, a certain nation was not too thrilled about the ‘Heroic’ power trip.

Thus, about thirty minutes in, the shrunken country was left to sulk against his sleeping bear who seemed to care less than he did about the carpet beneath them.  Matthew’s bright eyes darted back and forth and was a movement caught by his doting brother as he practically waited for the child to do something wrong.

Crossing his arms, the Canadian just huffed which caused a light smiled on Alfred’s face.

Big Mattie mad meant fratricide via hockey stick.

Little Mattie mad left one with gushing feelings that could not be contained.

This, of course, caused the superpower to ignore the neon red ‘Proceed with Caution’ sign that usually came up when he pissed off the northern nation. Now the sign just flickered every now and then, desperately trying to come on.

Alfred went to poke the boy’s cheek…and was forced to pull back as teeth snapped at the air. “Dude! Not cool!” He shouted, cradling his hand protectively against his chest.

Matthew kicked out at a nearby shin and flicked his tongue at his brother before doddering off with a self-satisfied grunt. The oversized dress shirt training out behind him.

Al watched the Canadian go with a sour look on his face while he rubbed the offended limb.

“So what now Arthur?” He wobbled over to his former caretaker, snapping him from his speculations. He figured it would be best to leave his brother be for the moment.

* * *

There are five unquestionable truths about toddlers.

One: They are tiny and can easily fit into small spaces while being completely silent, making one wonder how they managed to lodge themselves in an air duct fifteen feet up.

Two: Referring to _One_ toddlers make horrible spies, only because they cannot take direction…or anything that requires fully developed common sense.

Three: Their attention span can be as short as a goldfish or longer than Colet’s speech.

Four: Small children should never be left alone.

Five: Small children should never ever be left _alone_.

Now Matthew had had _centuries_ to cultivate an absolutely exquisite level of dignity and mental capacity.

Whatever this voodoo, Dumble-Dora, witchy-ness was, it had taken most of that and fed it to the dogs. Suddenly, his reason was currently sitting in a jar of dirt on a shelf somewhere, begging to be returned to its owner before it was too late.

The hotel room wasn’t large by any standard, however, the kitchenette was a temptation of undeniable pleasure. Mostly because it lacked the hovering ‘adults’ but also because the snippets he picked from his previous conscience was telling him there was something _good_ in there.

With a bit of silent effort, Matthew managed to shuffle over one of the luggage cases and over-turned it near the cabinet, climbing on top of it. A quick glance to the side assured him that he was in the clear. Alfred and Arthur were talking about some sort of _miniaturized_ , _terrorists_ , and _crisis_.

Not important.

Now, the mission the young Canadian was on, that was of the upmost significance.

Even if he didn’t know it.

_What am I even looking for again? God, my thoughts are so jumbled. Maybe I should- OH_

The blond child’s hands slid across the counter before bumping against a small black tin.

And _Bingo_ was his name-O.

Pulling the small case towards him, Matthew over compensated, causing himself to freefall back towards the ground.

The initial thump caused Kuma to rouse instantly.

The clang of metal against the floor caused the other two nations to pause curiously.

A muffled sniff later, the white cub was already padding his way over to his young charge.

There was a small whimper, but nothing more as the boy buried his face into the fur. He had fallen straight back, bruising his bottom and luckily nothing else.

…Pride didn’t count, did it?

* * *

Francis had been sent on a mission.

Correction.

Francis had denied this privilege to both Arthur and Alfred. Who knew what monstrosities they would have returned with?

Besides, he had been denied this pleasure years ago due to political decisions. To say he wasn’t enjoying this to a degree would be a lie.

Two bag hung heavy on each arm. The names plastered across them made the sacks alone valued more than a weeks’ worth of minimum wage.

Viva la Capitalism.

Humming that infuriating song that had been playing over the loudspeakers, France was having an internal battle of wills.

On one hand, the chorus was irritating and overly produced.

On the other, the boy-group was British.

Actually…there wasn’t an upside. Yet for some reason, he couldn’t get the melody out of his head. Even though the entire thing was completely ridiculous.

What is the point of smiling at the ground anyway?

He would have to ask (read; condescendingly make fun of) Arthur about his peoples way of ‘romancing’.

However, that would have to wait.

Even outside of the room, he could hear the battle coming from within. His eyes widened and he couldn’t get the key card out fast enough when he heard a child’s wail.

Flinging the door open with great force, Francis froze. His mouth moved momentarily, but nothing came out.

Matthew was on the ground, arms crossed and face red as he stared at the floor.

Alfred was holding a black tin above his head, his left hand defending and one foot lashing out every few seconds.

Arthur was leaning forward on his toes, face full of American hand, and waving frantically in the air.

“Give me the blasted box – Ouch! Bloody hell - Alfred!”

“Nuh uh!”

France managed to regain himself enough to slip inside. The click of the door managed to catch Canada’s attention.

Looking up, the small nation didn’t even have to try to muster up the best kicked-puppy look ever. His hands instantly made a grabby motion, the universal child sign for ‘pick-me-up-before-I-cry-so-loud-DHS-will-hear-three-states-over’. The European didn’t need the threatening encouragement though. In one fell swoop, he had the boy in his arms. The shopping bags still weighing down.

“Now now. What is this?” He questioned the only person he expected a remotely straight answer from.

 “Alfie won’t let me have cookies ‘cause…’cause… he’s a meanie.” Canada moaned indignantly, having partially come to terms with his new and improved vocabulary.

Francis blinked quickly. He had expected some sort of royal scandal or a lack of tea for the British man to act out like so.

Then again…he had left him practically alone in a room with America.

“It’s not nice to call people names, Mathieu.” He chided absentmindedly.

“I can if I want.” The boy huffed back. He’d said worse during the hockey match last weekend without anyone saying anything.

Much worse.

Romano had taken notes from the recap.

Francis gave him a look that would normally be followed by a reprimand, but he too had to remember that Canada was…had been an adult.

Choosing to ignore that particular battle for later, he refocused on the arguing nations. Somehow, Alfred had managed to get on the subject of sticking Arthur in a retirement home. Ordering Life Alert for the aging nation. Hiring a French cook because they would be able to improve his horrible scones.

Ok. Despite the truth behind those words, there was only one viable option at this point.

 **A** merica **M** ade **E** ngland **R** eally **I** rritated, **C** risis **A** voidance - Version 1-B activate.

AKA: Mediation.

“Mon Amérique, won’t you share with your brother?” It was just a cookie after all, if what Matthew had said was true.

“Matt can’t have _these_!” Alfred said pointedly as he managed to slap the Brit away.

Matthew gave a shocked whine when he saw his southern brother head for the bathroom with the box.

“Alf’wed!” The Canadian wriggled in France’s grasp.

The other brother just gave the boy a knowing look before rightly ignoring him.

Both parental figures looked on questioningly. Sure America could be a real piece of work and his manners needed an overhaul, but they had never seen him be cruel.

At least not without reason.

“Alfred! I will count to three. You will stop picking on your brother or so help me…”

America stopped for a moment glaring daggers at the shorter blond before flicking his gaze back to the little boy in Francis arms.

Matthew seemed sincerely concerned about the fate of the wonderful treats. Yet under the scrutiny of his brother’s glare, Canada’s mind seemed to catch up to the situation. The sudden shock of realization was almost verbal. Almost…

Instead of letting the whole thing drop (like a good brother would), Matthew let the newfound information soak in comfortably and he dropped his expression into a deadpan. It would have been a good impression of Norway if it weren’t for the slight tug at the edge of his mouth or the expectant gleam in his eyes. The countdown continued.

And here Alfred was being helpful and keeping his promise.

Well…two could play at that game.

Heel-toe turn and he was nearly flush with his father-brother-something figure just as he started on the first syllable of the last number, shoving the tin into his hands.

The Brit scoffed back and mentioned something about him making it harder than it needed to be. He was about to turn and finally give Matthew what he wanted when Alfred piped up.

“Those are Matt’s … _special_ cookies.” His voice was innocent and nonchalant as he inspected the off-white walls with great interest. His hands were suddenly shoved into his back pockets to prevent himself from fist pumping. That one word with just the right tone…checkmate.

Arthur froze and stared at the box with horror. One would think the thing had insulted the Queen’s propriety from the look he gave it.

Matthew’s face broke and he gaped before he puffed his cheeks at the traitor.

Once he returned to normal and could articulate correctly, he was so returning the favor. He would just let it slip out ever so _accidently_.

Did Arthur know what _really_ happened to his Persian rug in 37’?

The great cookbook bonfire?

Test driving the schooner in 1779?

The boy didn’t have long to ponder revenge though. If the look on the British man’s face was anything to go on, he guessed he had about ten seconds of quiet.

What peaceful thoughts could he conjure?

Hmmm…His papa smelled of roses as usual, but there was something else. The scent of hot dogs and lax environmental protection laws. So he had gone downtown? What did he buy? Hopefully the clothes weren’t too frilly. Some red would-

“Matthew Williams!” Arthur’s voice was a chalkboard screech. “You- Of all the- I cannot even describe how disappointed I am!” He slammed the opened tin into the nearby garbage, horrified that the drug infused food existed.

Fifteen seconds before recovery. Nearly as long as when the twins had gone to the world meeting in Southern drag. Maple. This was going to be a long day.

As the blond continued to rant, America plastered a smug look on his face. Matt had practically used an ancient blood-oath on his brother to make sure their ‘parents’ never found out about his not-for-family-outing cookies. Arthur had learnt about them a few decades ago and the northern nation had told him herbal spiked cookies were just a one-time experiment. That had only reduced the bitching by point-five percent. It was a low blow but...

Bro-code be damned. This was self-preservation. 

The boy had to think quickly, no matter how hard it was.

Now, Matthew didn’t like his current physical predicament. He was smart however. Within his ‘family’, he knew most of the goings on. Who did what, who did who, who knew what…or didn’t in this case. After all, Arthur _had_ been the one who decided that they keep the _one-time_ incident between them.

When in Rome...

Or some sort of time-age scramble…

Letting his eyes do as they had all morning, he hiccupped once before snuggling into the crook of his Papa’s neck, hiding his face from the raging Briton. “Papa…” His voice was no more than a breath.

Maman mode ignited.

“Arrêter!” He turned his shoulder as to protect him charge from the other two. “Of all the-- picking on a little boy. Really? Mon fils ‘as ‘ad a tough time as it is.” The Frenchman snapped at them while managing to haughtily look down his nose.

“Listen Frog-“

“Frenchy-“

The two cut each other off, trying to explain. Glaring at each other, they quickly lost their one chance to defend their cause. The Frenchman’s temper was only recently waning from the stunt in the meeting room. Thus, he was quick to lash out now. With a sneer, Francis turned on his heel and removed himself and his cargo from the room, whispering soothing words and cooing promises of fresh pastries.

Before the door slammed, the two dumbfounded blonds caught sight of a small face resting on a broad shoulder.

He was beaming.

His eyes were laughing.

And that cute little wave was anything but.

“That little shit…”Alfred spoke in disbelieving awe with how abruptly the situation had flipped on him.( He had NOT just been outsmarted by a preschooler.)

Arthur could only nod in agreement, suddenly recalling many past instances when little Alfred cried about being falsely accused.

* * *

The door slammed open as the blond Germanic nation scanned the room. Of course there wasn’t anyone in there. That would have meant his brother had actually _listened_ and _obeyed_. Ludwig had every right to laugh at his own stupidity.

Instead, he had other, less self –depreciating, ways of coping.

Face meet Wall. Now kiss. Again.

After a few moments of indecently acquainting himself with the doorway, Germany took out his phone and let Speed-Dial number One do its job.

_“Hola Ludwig~”_

“Bruder! Ich sagte dir zu bleiben….Spain?” The blond’s eyes furrowed at the airy chuckle on the other line.

_“Si! Do you want to talk to – Ah. What does that say Gil? I can’t read – OH! Gilbert isn’t here right now. I can take a message if you want.”_

After a few stuttered breaths through his nose, the nation managed to pull himself together, a hand mussing his gelled hair. His only choice was to play along.

“Ja. Tell him that he is to report back to our room immediately. The situation with…Canada” HE paused, the name wasn’t forgotten. Instead, it sent a chill down his back. “is figured out, we need to keep a close eye on those who interacted with him lately.

The Mediterranean nation on the other end was listening to instruction from a not-as-sneaky-as-he-thinks-he-is Prussian. Before the nation relayed the message, Germany had already heard every word straight from the source.

“ _I will tell him, but I think he would say…. meinen Schwanz lutschen_ ” The Spaniard was hesitant about relaying the message. His accent was atrocious and he obviously had no idea what was he was saying.

Germany’s eye twitched when he heard a harsh cackled followed by ‘No homo’ in the background. A dial tone soon followed.

For a brief moment, he considered taking his brother skydiving with Russia.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh. I have some explaining to dooo...  
> So I got a nice case of writers-block right around Finals. Once finals were done and I finally managed to bring myself outta the slump *BAM* good ol' Tornado Alley lives up to it's name. After a few close calls, the E-F5 tornado touched down....5 minutes from my apartment. I spent the last few days clearing rubble and working food lines (It didn't hit my place...barely) ... ANNND I just moved back to my moms for the summer. This chapter is crap and has little to no movement but it's just a little reminder that I'm NOT gone. (See that Southern drag - reference to OMAM- AKA I'm working on that update too.). I promise to get back to regular updates again now that I'm settled and the sky isn't threatening to attack.
> 
> Translations:  
> (Remember: Google Translate- Feel free to correct)  
> Arrêter|[FR] Stop  
> Bruder! Ich sagte dir zu bleiben|[GR] Brother! I told you to stay.  
> meinen Schwanz lutschen|[GR] suck my dick.
> 
> Colet’s speech: Lluis Colet spoke for five straight days and four nights about Spanish painter Salvador Dali...a long ass time. He has a couple speeches under his belt that break the normal presentation 7 minute limit.


End file.
